


A Non Starter

by Wordslessworth



Category: Original Work
Genre: British, F/M, Humor, Original Fiction, Other, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordslessworth/pseuds/Wordslessworth
Summary: Ever hopeful Bill takes a gamble on love.





	A Non Starter

Ochre fingers flapping away the fug, Bill took a second look at the paper on his desk and for once sat bolt upright in his chair.

The stained digit traced the words of the personal ad.

"Want a safe bet? Then I'm your filly. Leggy chestnut seeks stallion for racy times. I love all things horsy, cosy pubs, French cooking and walks in the country."

Bill drew a sharp breath, causing him to cough and splutter like water in a chip pan.

"Apart from the walking nonsense she sounds great. Leggy filly eh...ho ho." Wiping lascivious drool on the sleeve of his Prince of Wales check jacket Bill took another slug of Jack Daniels and sighed.

"No filly's gonna want me is she? Wonder what odds William Hill would give me against a fit young bird going out with a codger like me? I'd bet my house on it, if I still had it. Be a safe bet too, unlike that nag at Kempton yesterday. Even my wife didn't want me anymore."

Gulping back tears with more whisky, JD began talking now. "But why not, the filly might like to risk long odds. We both like the gee gees, admittedly I bet on them, not ride. But I love it when they win."

Plucking up, mostly Dutch, courage he reached for the phone. 

Having left what he hoped was a suitably tempting voicemail the 'Sturdy Stallion' replaced the receiver and lit a celebratory Marlboro.

"Well, better get on with some work I suppose," Bill readjusted the precarious pile that was marked "In" and shuffled the 2 yellowing pages in the "Out" tray.

Later, taking a break from Solitaire, Bill leant back in his chair and caught sight of the clock reflected in the monitor, "That's close enough for me, lunchtime."

Returning a couple of hours later Bill saw a flashing light on his answer phone. "Damn useful things those," he belched and sank heavily into his chair. Expecting a barrage of bleating from his bank manager about insufficient funds, Bill found himself, once more, upright and attentive at his desk. A soft silken, female voice caressed his ear;

"Hi Sturdy Stallion, this is Leggy Chestnut. You sound my type of guy, if you'd like to meet tomorrow night to discuss all things equine, leave a number on the voice mail and I'll call you."

Before he really knew what he was doing, Bill found himself with the phone in his clammy hand, an automated voice asking him to leave a message after the tone. Shaking a little sense into himself, Bill left his mobile number, "Less easy to trace if she turns out to be a minger or, thinks I should be put out to pasture," he reasoned.

That evening whilst slumped with a beer and a biryani in front of the television Bill heard his phone beeping. "Better not be Rog' messing around, he knows I can't work this thing properly." Frantic bashing of the buttons found the following message;

8pm Cheval du Mer, Bridge Street, Leggy.

"Oh boy, she's keen, better have a bath."

Scrubbed, suited and booted Bill sidled into his local, furtively looking around. "Roger's not here yet Bill," smirked the landlord, "usual?"

Slumped on his bar stool, Bill cringed as he felt a familiar slap on the back.

"Bill mate, you've combed your hair and got a clean shirt on. You in court again? No, hang on, Saturday isn't it? Usual Landlord please" Roger slurped gratefully at his pint, "first of the day, cheers. So what is it then?"

"Got a date," Bill muttered into his drink hoping Rog' wouldn't hear.

No such luck. Twenty minutes later Bill stepped out towards the Bistro ears ringing with his pal's inquisition.

"Good on you, it's about time, what's it a year since you and Eileen split? 

Jammy sod! How did you get a leggy chestnut interested in a codger like you? Bet she hasn't seen your picture? Through the personal ads eh? She might be lying! Still she must be a young 'un if she knows how to text you. Fancy you both liking horses and French cooking, hope they don't serve you horse meat!" Rog' had cackled endlessly at his own wit, slapped Bill on the back and sent him on with a "Ride 'em Cowboy," and a JD for courage.

The petals of the red carnation stuck to his tacky fingers as he made sure the bloom was clearly visible on his lapel.

"God I'm too old for this. The suspense is no good for the ticker; perhaps I should have had another drink. No time, here goes."

Opening the door of Cheval du Mer, Bill launched himself into the affray that is dating. 

Seeing the edgy looking forty something hovering uncomfortably in the doorway, the maitre d', a man used to such liaisons, discretely steered Bill in the direction of the booth in the corner.

Protruding from the side of the red and white check table cloth was a shapely leg. A chestnut mane visible over the top of the stained glass screen gleamed in the lamplight.

The maitre d' bent forward murmuring to the owner of the leg, then nodding to Bill, retreated rapidly towards the bar. 

"Hello, I'm Bill," he greeted the stiletto clad foot. Then, plucking up courage he slowly followed it up to the soft grey pencil skirt, noting the beautiful curves enhanced by the softly fluted edges of the fitted jacket. His eyes wavered over the quivering cleavage, "Gosh she must be nervous too," and up to the glorious red brown cascade. "Wow she's gorgeous, but shy, she hasn't looked up yet."

Then from amongst the tumbling curls answered a voice which made his heart skip a beat.

"I know you bastard, it's taken a cheesy personal ad to pin you down." Eileen tossed back the chestnut mane, eyes ablaze and stepped aside to reveal the booth, the Child Support Agency man, the lawyer and his bank manager.


End file.
